More Murdered Mice
by Shelly Lane
Summary: Toby writes how he imagines life would be in Mousedom if reformed Felicia ever returned to her habit of eating mice. Brief allusion to Washington Irving's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." Doyle, Titus, and Disney own the rest.
1. The Raticide Reverts

**Chapter One: The Raticide Reverts**

"Good evening, Basil's dog!"

I shuddered. There was something familiar about that voice.

"Surprised to see me?!" A rat in a tuxedo and cape stepped out from the shadows. "Did you honestly think my evil was not strong enough to survive death?!"

This couldn't be! Ratigan was dead!

"I believe you tracked down well over half my henchmen! You took Basil to Buckingham Palace to stop me! Worst of all, you helped convince Felicia to reform! It took me years to ruin her so she'd become a proper mouser, and you have destroyed my finest work!" He removed his gloves. "Now you must pay! I will make you suffer worse than I have ever tormented anyone!"

There are times when a good investigator refuses to allow himself to be frightened; he stays where he is to solve the case. This was not one of those times. I hurried to Baker Street as fast as I could.

Felicia was napping on Dr. Watson's lap. She has a bad habit of rubbing against our humans until they pick her up and scratch her ears until she drifts off to sleep. She falls asleep anywhere she wants, including Mrs. Hudson's pillow.

I knew I would have to wait. Even the great Sherlock Holmes was not intelligent enough to understand that we animals can speak; we just choose to pretend not to understand human languages because people tend to be narrow minded. They like to pretend they're the only creatures who can talk or play music or have form of government, and as everyone in Mousedom knows, this simply isn't true.

After what seemed like years but was probably no more than a half hour, Dr. Watson set Felicia down on her favorite cushion. "A bit nicer than when I first placed you here, isn't it?"

(It's his joke with her. The very first time he placed her on that same cushion, he had just finished tending the wounds that the royal guard dogs had given her.)

Mr. Holmes stroked the top of my head a few times. "Take care, Toby. I should be most displeased if you suffered any mishaps due to an unnecessary confrontation."

(That's his joke with me. Before we became friends, Felicia once clawed my ears and nose. Against my will, Mr. Holmes had tended the scratches.)

The humans bade each other good night. When I was sure they had all fallen asleep, I asked Felicia what she knew about Ratigan's evil being strong enough to survive his death.

"One night every year," she began in a cryptic voice, "he is allowed to return from the grave. Some say he does so by the strength of his own willpower. Others say his malice is so cruel that the devil himself can't stand it and needs a day without Ratigan. Then there are those that say Ratigan's spirit is condemned to wander the earth forever since not enough of his body remained to give a proper burial."

"What do you think?" I queried.

"Everyone is entitled to his or her own beliefs about what happens after death." She shrugged. "However it happens, Ratigan's ghost returns to Mousedom once a year. He's after one thing only: vengeance. He commits any crime he wishes. If he could kill someone, his spirit would take over their body. For example, if he murdered you, then he'd be allowed to stay in the world as long as he wanted, but everyone would think it was you instead of him."

I shuddered.

"Good night, Toby."

Despite my best efforts, I was unable to fall asleep. Shortly after Big Ben tolled to announce the changing of the hour, I heard a voice in the dark.

"Miss Hudson?"

I scanned the room, trying to find the source of the mysterious voice.

"Miss Hudson, are you in here?"

My eyes widened when I noticed the same rat who had approached me earlier. His cape trailed behind him, and he grinned somewhat wickedly.

Felicia looked happy to see him. She waved and beckoned for him to come closer.

"Did I mistake your gestures when we met earlier, or did you offer me something if I frightened the Holmes dog?" the rat queried politely.

The cat's smile was too big for her face as she moved her cushion slightly, revealing a few pounds, which she gestured that the rat was to have.

"Thank you kindly, Miss Hudson." He placed the money in his pocket. "If you ever need help from anyone in the theater district again, be sure to let me know."

Felicia nodded as the rat waved goodbye and disappeared. That was the moment I understood. This was not Ratigan's ghost. It was an actor hired to play the part of the late criminal. In other words, the cat had just duped me, and I'd be hearing about it for the next month.

There was still a glimmer of hope. If I could think of some form of retaliation, I could save face. I spent the next few days deep in thought until the answer finally came to me: If Felicia loves attention so much, why not give her what she wants? In fact, I would make her the main character of my next hypothetical story:

What if she reverted?


	2. The Disappearing Dead

**Chapter Two: The Disappearing Dead**

The crime wave had swept over the hapless city like a plague. It was estimated that five thousand innocent rodents had perished at the hands of felons. Mass graves were becoming a common sight, not only for the victims, but for their hanged murderers as well.

She hadn't meant to eat the mouse. The cat, who prided herself on the fact that she had been able to change her ways, had merely wished to pick up a dead mouse and carry it to the most recent grave so the deceased rodent would have a proper funeral.

When she almost dropped the body, she was forced to bite down in order to get a tighter grip. However, the bite was more forceful than she had intended, and she accidentally swallowed the mouse she had been carrying.

For just a moment, Felicia felt guilty about what she had done. She had vowed years ago that she would never again eat another rodent or bird, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized she had done no wrong. It had indeed been an accident, and the poor mouse had already been dead. She had not taken life; she had just disposed of the dead so there would be room for the living.

Dismissing her guilt, the cat continued to go about her day. She helped her sleuth hound companion solve cases, and she rubbed against the humans' ankles in a successful effort to get more table scraps.

She couldn't stop thinking about that mouse. It had been so long since she had tasted a rodent. Maybe she could…

No, it was not possible. Her criminal record was a distant memory, nothing more. She was a good cat.

Her troubled mind tortured her with an unusual question: What did it mean to be a cat? Had she ever truly been one? Had she ever understood her role in society?

As a child, she had behaved as a mouse, cowering before Ratigan and accepting the friendship of one of his henchmen. As a young adult, she had acted the part of a rat, controlling all smaller species and doing whatever she pleased without once considering legal consequences or the feelings of others. Now she was almost a dog, outwitting criminals in the name of upholding the law, no matter how far she had to track them.

No wonder the other cats treated her as an outcast. She didn't know how to be a real cat, so what was she?

Felicia tried to disregard such thoughts. Accidents happened, and that was all there was to it. She hadn't meant to swallow the mouse, but it had already been dead. There was nothing she could do about it, and the incident hadn't changed who she had allowed herself to become, a detective's assistant who protected innocent rodents.

She was sure that settled the matter, but the taste of the dead mouse kept haunting her memory until she could stand it no longer. She just had to have another. After all, she had already eaten one dead mouse. What harm could it do if she ate a second?

Hesitantly, she crept up to an unmarked grave and began digging. Being much larger than the rodents who had buried the hapless soul, she managed to dig up the body in mere seconds. Nervously glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she quickly gulped down the mouse, carefully putting the dirt back into place before hurrying home.

For a few days, she was satisfied, but no matter what she did, she couldn't stop thinking about the taste of mice. She began eating any dead mice she found. She hadn't meant to become addicted to her new habit, but she was unable to resist.

Despite her cautions, the inevitable happened. She was eventually caught. However, the reaction of others proved more favorable than Felicia had imagined. Here was the answer to their problem: They would feed her rodents that had already died.

For several weeks, this proved beneficial. Felicia had all the mice she could eat, and no one had to worry about whether or not they would have a place to bury their dead.

However, all things must come to an end. The criminals responsible for the mass murders were eventually found and executed. There were no more vast hoards of deceased rodents for the cat to eat.

She tried to go back to her regular diet, but she was miserable. She had to have a mouse.

For a while, the cat was content to rob graves and eat half rotten corpses, but she quickly grew bored. There was no sport in eating something already dead, and she yearned for the thrill of the chase, the power of ending another's life, and the satisfaction of feeling bones breaking between her teeth as warm blood dripped down the side of her face.

She knew she had to eat something alive.


	3. The Helpful Hints

**Chapter Three: The Helpful Hints**

After a month of planning, Felicia finally had a solution to her problem. She would eat rodents who were already dying: the seriously injured or those sentenced to be executed.

How wonderful it was to feel mice squirming between her teeth! She bit off heads, swallowed rodents alive, batted around her victims before administering the coup de grace, and did whatever else she pleased. Ratigan would certainly have been proud of her…perhaps not proud as much as envious of her cruelty.

By night, she had the strangest dreams. Whenever anyone offended her, she calmed herself by dreaming of devouring whoever had caused her to become upset. She also dreamed that mice who were her friends, such as Basil and Dawson, would offer to feed themselves to her, and she would willingly agree. When Felicia woke up, she always felt slightly ashamed of herself, but she would lick her lips eagerly.

Her obesity was restored. She had eaten so many mice that any traces of her once trim figure had vanished in her massive bulges. However, she had found the perfect solution to her problem: If anyone dared make a snide remark about her weight, she would sit on whoever had insulted her.

Losing all traces of benevolence, the cat went rogue. She ate any rodents unfortunate enough to cross her path, but even that wasn't enough for her. She began eating frogs, newts, birds, and whatever else she could find. She no longer cared about being on one side of the law or the other; all she wanted to do was find more things to eat, anything smaller than she was.

One day as she was walking through an alley, she was startled by the appearance of another cat. She hadn't known anyone else was around.

"Am I in the presence of the greatest mouser in the empire?" he began.

She shrugged. "What's it to you?!"

"I like a lady who isn't worried about her diet or maintaining her figure!"

"What do you want?!"

"I thought maybe we could get to know each other!"

"You thought wrong! Get lost!"

The other cat smiled. "I don't see why we can't form sort of a partnership. We're both excellent at catching rodents. Why don't we work together?"

"Why don't we get married and adopt that mangy stray kitten that lives in the alleys a few blocks from here?!" Felicia retorted sarcastically. "If English isn't your first language, I'll be glad to put this in terms you would understand: _Piérdete! Vattene via! Va te faire voir! Verschwinde! _Do I make myself clear?!"

"I just thought I could offer you some assistance, but if you're not interested…"

"What assistance would I need from you?!"

"There are ways to be a mouser without causing massive destruction to society. Imagine if no one even knew that their friends or relatives died."

Felicia raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "How so?"

"I suppose I could help you, but I demand more respect."

"I respect no one!"

The other cat rolled his eyes. "How about agreeing to hear me out before judging?"

"I make no conditions."

"Not even for dark magic?" He grinned. "There are ways of conjuring up the spirits of those who carried the bubonic. If you know the correct spells, you can bring to life every mouse you've ever eaten, and you can do so as many times as you wish. Just imagine if no mouse ever truly died; they just kept coming back to be eaten again…and again…and again."

"You've slept outside in the rain too long."

"It really works! Watch! I'll show you!"

Felicia shrugged. Surely it would do no harm to watch this other cat make an imbecile of himself.

He placed the body of a dead mouse on the ground and recited the proper spell. Much to Felicia's surprise, the mouse came back to life and was promptly devoured by the other cat.

"I can teach you, if you want," he offered. "It's easier than you might think."


	4. The Detective's Demise

**Chapter Four: The Detective's Demise **

If it hadn't been for that magic spell, there wouldn't have been any rodents left in all Mousedom. Felicia knew which words to recite over hats, graves, or any other traces of her victims in order to cause them to return to life. She even learned how to cast a spell that made them beg to be eaten.

Her goal was to eat every small creature in the empire at least five times. There was no stopping her. All cats bowed to her and brought her gifts: stewed gerbils or barbecued hamsters or rat kabobs.

Power corrupts, and it wasn't long before Felicia was no longer satisfied. There was no longer any satisfaction killing rodents and birds. She wanted a fair fight to feel as if she had truly vanquished a foe. She decided to try eating something her size, but what?

Meanwhile, Mouseland Yard had arrived at the conclusion that they would have to end her reign of terror, but how? She had been raised by Ratigan and spent years living with Basil. Who could outwit the greatest criminal in all Mousedom?

Toby, a clever but never fully appreciated sleuth hound, decided that he would make the attempt. He would find a way to overdose the monster on chloroform or morphine. He didn't pity her in the least, for what cat wouldn't want to sleep forever?

After he had made his plan clear through gestures, every apothecary in London agreed to donate something to the cause. The royal family held a celebration in the dog's honor, and everyone came to wish him well.

At first he tried subtle ways to rid the world of the cat: slipping cyanide into her food, telling much bigger dogs where she would be later, and trying to get her to step in the way of oncoming carriages. Finally, he realized he would have to use his original plan. While the cat slept, the dog attempted to make sure she would never wake up. To his surprise, she opened one of her eyes.

"Tired of me, Toby?" She laughed softly. "Very well. I shall put you out of your misery."

The sky grew dark, and rain came pouring down in torrents, for it was the end of the valiant, selfless hero's life. He was murdered in the same way he had tried to dispose of the wicked villain.

Felicia ate him. She had finally outwitted something her own size and sentenced the victim to death. Now she was ready for the next step: finding a way to eat someone even bigger than she was.


	5. The Entertaining Ending

**Chapter Five: The Entertaining Ending**

"What are you writing, Toby?"

I handed Felicia my story. "Read it and weep!"

Her eyes widened, and she gasped. "Me? A mouser again? I would never…!" Felicia's ears flattened against her head as her eyes narrowed. "Tobias Euclid Holmes! I am going to strangle you!"

I started laughing.

"This means war!" she continued. "How would you feel if I wrote a story starring you: _Hound of Baker Street_?!"

When the cat finished reading the story, she laughed. "Toby, that was completely unrealistic! In order to frighten your audience, you have to present the villain in a credible manner! This was just ridiculous! Besides, _you_ as the noble hero?! Who'd ever believe anything that ludicrous?!"

"It could happen!" I argued. "Didn't I chase you away from Buckingham Palace once?"

"Basil saved everyone there. He was the one who pulled Her Majesty out of my grasp. The only one you prevented me from eating was Fidget. Good job, sleuth! You saved the criminal's assistant!"

I sent her a baleful lower.

"Toby, you're trying too hard. You don't need to write about me being a mouser again in order to tell a good horror story. Ratigan's men used to tell stories about me all the time. They were always afraid that they'd become the next Headless Henchman. The one thing that made them more afraid than anything else was thinking that one day I might have kittens."

I started laughing. "You as a mother?! Now that _is _scary! I feel sorry for your future children already!"

"Not half as much as I feel sorry for yours." The tip of her tail began twitching slightly. "Did I ever tell you what happens to a cat who's been spurned? It's some manner of psychological disorder that causes us to…"

"To what?!"

She smirked. "You'll find out soon enough, sleuth."


End file.
